Today we start the two-week run of the fifty-first Literary Challenge: The Brig

One of your chief officers has been thrown into the Brig. Why? Maybe there was a misunderstanding, or are they actually a culprit? Write a Captain's Log entry letting us know the situation and the outcome.

This is the writer's thread -- only entries should be made here.
The Discussion Thread can be found HERE.
We also have an Index of previous challenges HERE.

The rules may change from one challenge to another, but I'd like to remind everyone what the base rules are. These may grow as we move on, so also feel free to give feedback!

Each Challenge will run for two weeks. For 2 weeks we will sticky the challenge and let you make your entry.

There are no right or wrong entry.

The background story, questions I ask, and format requested are only to serve as a platform that you can start your writing from. Feel free to change up the back-story or the way you deliver, as long as the entry stays on topic of the original challenge.

Write as little or as much as you would like.

Please keep discussion about the entries in the appropriate Discussion Thread.

In the Discussion Thread, feel free to write what inspired you and what your thoughts on the topic are.

A few other important reminders:

Please heed the rest of the forum's rules when submitting your entry! All of them apply to these posts.

Each poster can have one entry. Feel free to edit your post to fix typos or add/ remove content as you see fit during the next two weeks.

After two weeks time, the thread will be locked and unstickied, as we move on to the next challenge.

We'll have two threads: One to post the entries in and one to discuss the entries. **Cross-linking between these two threads is acceptable for these challenges ONLY!!**

Today saw a very strange event and revealed a vulnerability in my away team I had not expected. By very good fortune and remarkable skill, we were able to overcome it and defeat a Borg assimilation team near Defera, but it was a close thing.

Scarlett, my tactical department head, is a Soong Mark V android. They have long been classed as a fully sentient life form and as such, can hold any rank in Starfleet that their capabilities allow them to achieve. Or for that matter, they can reach any level of success in the Federation as a whole that they choose. By and large they are remarkably well-balanced as individuals, but don't always have the creative "spark" of an organic intelligence.

Scarlett is relatively typical in that regard, but she excels in tactical planning and execution. Thus the reason she holds the department head position on my crew. However, something got the better of her today and it was not pleasant, either for her or our away team.

We had boarded a trader that was emitting a distress signal just a few hours out from Defera and discovered that the Borg had apparently dropped off an assimilation team on the ship and simply kept going. It was a small ship, not exactly a big target. Normal Borg attacks would have simply pulled the smaller ship into the mass of the attacking Borg vessel and that would be all. Not this time.

This turned out to be a trap. We were roughly two thirds through eliminating the assimilation team when I heard Scarlett behind me say simply "Captain..." But not in her normal tones, this was almost frightened. Fear is not something Scarlett displays. Her control over her emotional subsystem is remarkable and it NEVER gets away from her.

On turning around, I see that she has her weapon pointed straight at me. "Not. Under. My. Control." she says next and I realize something has invaded her positronic matrix. Specifically her kinesthetics control subsystem. "Resisting. Difficult." Her hands were twitching on her weapon. "System. Reroute. Failing."

"Dorrel! Isolation, emergency beam out for Scarlett!" I shout to my engineer. Never accuse a Bolian engineer of being slow witted. Scarlett was transported out almost before I could finish the command. Dorrel informed me that she had Scarlett beamed directly to one of the maximum security cells in the Shaw's brig and full nano\chemical\bio isolation protocols engaged. Medical, for all of its secure handling and isolation gear, would not be able to restrain Scarlett safely if she were to go completely out of control.

Now I was worried in more ways than one. My bridge officers are a dream team in my book and having any of them disabled in some way is very bothersome. (Yes I know the jokes about "Zane's Harem". Phooey. Every one of those ladies has a record that shines. Somebody is just jealous.) On top of that, what invaded Scarlett's system? Would it affect biological beings as well? If so, how?

Back aboard the Shaw, the medical team went to work on getting the trader crew healed up. Engineering teams were putting their ship back together (It would still need shipyard repairs, but they would get home safely.) It was time to try and discover what was invading Scarlett. She had gone effectively still once beamed into the cell.

My Chief Science Officer, Janie set up a very detailed examination system at Scarlett's cell and set to work. Scarlett did not react until I came into view and then began to have problems with her movement again. Several times over the space of a few seconds, she physically tried to attack me through the security shield. All the while, her expression showed horror and fear at her own actions. Janie suggested that I should back away, which I accepted as a good idea and did so.

A short time later Janie came out of the brig. "She has a nano-virus infection. It appears to be of Borg origin, but has been modified to a different set of functions than typical assimilation nanos. They are specifically programmed to seek out Soong androids and take over their mobility. Forcing them to physical actions they would not normally choose. I suspect they would eventually take over the positronic command matrix as well. Effectively "killing" the infected android and leaving a Borg automaton in place."

"What can we do about it?" I asked, feeling very much out of my depth. Janie's science skills are sometimes wizardry to me, but that's why she is on my crew.

Janie reassured me with a bit of a smile. "We can likely use the standard assimilation recovery nano-viruses we keep for biological infections. However, I'll need to tailor a batch for Scarlett's system. She's had enough stress on her positronic matrix today as it is. I don't want to add to it. I think I can have something safely set up in a couple of hours."

"Make it so," I said, stealing the legendary Picard's line yet again. I was greatly relieved by the news. It was time for me to get out of the way.

A few hours later, Scarlett returned to her bridge station, looking none the worse for wear.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"Nominal," she replied. I accepted that with a nod and turned back to my reports.

"I wonder if that's how a Pentium computer felt when infected with a Loveletter virus?"

Its been a long time since I've had to confine one of my officer's to the brig. During the time of war I need all of my officer's at their posts, but this had to be done. The details of this log will be encrypted and only level ten clearance will allow access. I wish I didn't have to make this log, but I can see a visit from Temporal Investigations when we return to Starbase 517. However, I Captain Isabella Shapiro of the USS Haruhi Suzumiya must now make the difficult decision of what to do with a crewman who has commited treason and endangered the Federation at the hightest level.

It all started three days ago...

(Three Days Ago)

The Haruhi Suzumiya was searching for the USS Sophronia in the Great Bloom System, the same system where the USS Enterprise E battled the Reman Scimitar. There was still some residue Thelaron Radiation remaining from the explosion. Isabella was worried that the crew of the Sophronia had become trapped in the Radiation and suffered a horrible death. However what was about to happen would be more terrifying than anything they had ever seen or come across.

"Lieutenant scan the system" Captain Shapiro ordered as the Haruhi Suzumiya dropped out of warp at the edge of the system.
"Aye Captain, I'm picking up dense pockets of Thelaron Radiation within the system and debris cloud" Lieutenant Abanoi reported from the science console. The bridge of the Haruhi Suzumiya was filled with tension as the ship glided in deeper into the system.

Eventually they arrived at the last known co-ordinates of the USS Sophronia.
"The Sophronia was on a mission to gather some of the Thelaron Radiation from this system. The Remans have been making a come back since the destruction of Romulas and Remus. Starfleet believe that they may still have some Thelaron Weapons. The Sophronia was tasked with researching and developing a defense against those weapons" Isabella explained to the rest of the bridge crew. After all most Starfleet ships didn't get clearance to enter The Great Bloom system due to the environmental impacts the system had on Starships and their crews.

"Captain I'm picking up a ship. She's badly damaged" Lieutenant Abanoi reported quickly.
"Helm move us closer, Yellow Alert". The bridge of the Haruhi Suzumiya darkened as the crew readied themselves for a fight. They were used to being in Yellow or Red Alert these days and even though the ship was a top of the range Intrepid Class they often had to fight their way out of situations they couldn't handle.

"Its the USS Sophronia" Abanoi said.
"What happened to them?" Isabella asked.
"Weapon signatures registering as...."
"As?"
"As Klingon/Romulan. A hybrid of both sir"
"A hybrid of both weapons?"
"Yes sir. Both signatures are present on the hull. I am however reading lifesigns". Abanoi spun around in her chair and instantly started to tap away at her console.
"Twenty Six life signs, out of a crew compliment of three hundred sixty"
Isabella was shocked. That many officer's had been killed, no wonder the ship was crippled with only twenty crew any starship would feel like an empty city.
"Beam them aboard!" Isabella ordered.

"I can't sir!" Abanoi said. "Transporters have just gone offline... Someone is launching a shuttle. Is the Kyon sir, our Delta Flyer". The Kyon was the Haruhi Suzumiya's Delta Flyer type shuttle and it was now zooming away from the aft of the ship and heading towards the crippled Sophronia.
"Who's on that ship!" Isabella asked.
"Lieutenant Samuel Abbott sir" Abanoi said. "Captain, he's charging weapons!".
"Red Alert" Isabella ordered. But the Kyon wasn't aiming at the Haruhi Suzumiya it was heading straight for the Sophronia.

"What is he doing, helm get closer to him. Ready tractor beams". But it was too late, the Kyon opened a volley of Quantum Torpedo's at the Sophronia. Isabella watched in horror as the Sophronia was engulfed in the fire from the blast.
"Shockwave!" Abanoi shouted. Isabella was knocked off her feet as the shockwave struck the Haruhi Suzumiya knocking several systems offline.
"Captain" Abanoi said. "There is some sort of vortex out there where the Sophronia used to be!"
"Vortex?" Isabella asked.
"Yes, its giving off tachyon emissions!"
"Tachyons!" Isabella said. "Where is the Kyon?"
"Its been pulled in, and so are we"
"Helm full reverse!"
The ensign at the helm tried his best, but there was nothing he could do. In a flash the Kyon and USS Haruhi Suzumiya disappeared through the vortex.

(Two Hours Later)

Isabella opened her eyes to find that she was laid on the floor of her bridge. Luckily the rest of the crew seemed to be waking up.
"What happened?" she asked grudgily as she pulled herself up off the floor and back into her chair.
"We got pulled through the Vortex" Abanoi explained. "I'm guessing whatever it was made us black out". Coming from a medical background Isabella knew that some anomolies, especially those that produce Tachyons can affect starship crews.
"Where are we?"

She looked up at the viewscreen to see a different system to what they were in.
"We're still in The Great Bloom system Captain. But we're not in our own time anymore" Abanoi explained.
"Ok, where in time are we; this time?"
"According to the computer we are in the year 2390"
"Thats the year that the Klingons withdrew from the Khitomer Accords and started this war. But why bring us nine years into the past?" Isabella said.
"Captain, the Kyon just jumped into warp"
"Set a pursuit course!" Isabella ordered. It took a few seconds for the Haruhi Suzumiya's engines to initialise but soon they were in warp drive.
"Luckily we're faster than the Kyon" Isabella said. "Take us to full warp speed and catch up with the Kyon"
The ship then began to shake as the Haruhi Suzumiya started to accelerate and kept accelerating.

"Engineering to bridge. Captain, our engines won't slow down!"
"Won't slow down?" Isabella asked.
"We're stuck at maximum warp, someone has sabotaged the engines so that we're stuck at warp 9.975 with no way of cutting power!". Isabella looked over at Abanoi, usually her trill science officer had some sort of answer for her.
"Ensign Abbott must have sabotaged the engines before he left. He knew we could catch him, but we can't survive top speed for more than twelve hours and the Kyon is much more meanuverable" Abanoi explained.
"Great, so we're stuck in a straight line and there's nothing we can do about it?" Isabella asked.
"Basically captain, yes"

"Incoming transmission from the Kyon captain".
"On screen" Isabella said.
"Hello Captain" Abbott said with a smile.
"Abbott what the hell do you think you're doing?" Isabella asked.
"Saving millions of lives and stopping this stupid war!" he replied. "Of course I had to wait until the right moment to do it, and you've delivered that moment Captain"
"I don't know what you intend to do, but we're going to stop you!"
"Oh, I don't think so. You see I've locked the warp drive on the Haruhi Suzumiya into a continous loop. I wouldn't try and slow down, if you did it would rip the plating off your hull" Abbott explained. "You never let me become the chief engineer so I thought you needed a demonstration of what I could do"
"Is this what this is about?" Isabella asked. "Because you weren't chosen to be the Chief? You're the assistant chief, so why are you doing this?"
"Not quite my dear captain. You see, when I heard about the Sophronia and its research into Thelaron Weaponry I knew I had the chance I needed. You see before I destroyed that ship I beamed aboard several of their experimental torpedo's and I intend to use them. Right into the bow of Chancellor J'mpok's ship. I will stop him from ever declaring war on the Federation and I will be the savior of us all!"
"What!" Isabella said in shock "How could you? You're meant to be a Starfleet officer not some mindless assassin who travels in time to change time! You'll be destroying millions of lives too and think about what damage you could do to us all!"
"Yeah, I don't care. You've probably only got; what; eleven hours left so I wouldn't worry. Sayonara Captain". The channel cut off leaving Isabella stood in shock and anger. He was doing something that could only be described as barbaric and ethically wrong. Murder one to save another.

(One hour later)

Engineering was hot. It was safe to say that the Warp Core was close to overloading. Steam and coolant was starting to leak from the magnetic constricters. Isabella walked into Engineering hoping that her engineer's had an answer for her.
"How bad are we?" she asked.
"Looks like we're pretty much stuck. Whats more disturbing is how he did this. I can slow us down but it would mean blowing out nearly every single EPS conduit on the ship".
"So stopping would blow us up?"
"Erm, yeah captain. Or at least blow most of us up"
"I'm pretty damn sure there was a movie like this one; what was it called.... speed?"
"Speed sir?" the engineer asked.
"Yeah, similar circumstances. Yet the bad guy wasn't going to murder a Klingon Chancellor".
"I see. I might have to watch it one day"
"Best make that sooner than later, its not like we have much time" Isabella said sarcastically. She wasn't expecting him to turn to the monitor and flick it on. Next thing she knew was that her chief engineer had his senior engineers huddled around the monitor watching a movie from over three hundred years ago trying to see if it would give them any clues.
"Got to love my crew sometimes..." she said as she walked off.

She returned to the bridge to find the helms officer trying to keep a track of the engines.
"So, where are we now?" she asked.
"Well we've crossed the narrow section between the Romulan Star Empire and the Fedration, but we seem to be heading towards the Klingon Empire. We've also lost the Kyon off of long range sensors; we have no idea where he went"
"Great, so we're flying with no control and if we slow down we die. Nice to know isn't it" she said with a sigh as she sat down in her command chair.
"Captain we've got a Romulan D'Deridex coming up fast off aft, they're demading that we drop out of warp and prepare to be boarded"
"Just what we DON'T NEED!" Isabella said.
"Tell them we're experiencing engine problems and our warp drive is compromised" Isabella said. Abanoi sent the message. The reply came instantly. A plasma torpedo.
"Federation Starship, this is Commander T'Mer of the Tal Shiar you shall drop out of warp and be inspected. This is Romulan Territory".
"Don't answer them" Isabella said. "Ready the rear quantum torpedo's. Aim only at their engines, we don't want to alter the timeline"
"Why don't we let them come across here sir? They might be able to help us with our engines?"
"Ok, well lets think. We let Armed Tal Shiar Romulans beam aboard a ship which is nine years more advanced. What do you think they'll do?"
"Silly question?"
"Yes silly question" Isabella said "But good thinking ensign".
"Torpedo's locked". Isabella hesitated, as she knew what they were doing wasn't meant to happen. "Fire!". The bright blue torpedo's raced behind them and struck the Romulan ship knocking them out of warp.
"Their engines are overloading sir..."
"What! I said disable!"
"Captain!" Isabella stood up as she watched the D'deridex ship explode and then implode into their own Quantum Singularity. She uttered a few swear words under her breath as the Haruhi Suzumiya sped on.
"If we ever get Ensign Abbott I will have his head on a spike!"

(Two hours later)

"Engineering to bridge. We think we can drop us out of warp!"
"How?" Isabella said.
"We re-route the power flow to an empty deck and blow out all the conduits in a confined area. We can also vent dry plasms through the nacelles to prevent a core breach!"
"Get it done!" Isabella ordered. Within minutes deck four had been cleared of all personnel and equipment.
"Ready to drop out of warp" Engineering said.
"All hands, brace yourselves, damage teams stand by" she looked over at the helm officer. "Engineering, Helm. Do it".

The ship shook as the ship dropped to impulse speeds. The EPS conduits on deck four blew out causing the entite deck to be engulfed in a inferno. The fireballs ripped through the bulkheads on the deck and thrashed through living quarters and science labs. As it reached the outer hull it shattered the Transparant Illuminum in the window frames and for a few seconds the explosion was vented out into space. Meanwhile the Haruhi Suzumiya swayed from side to side as bright blue dry plasma erupted form the nacelles.

The ship stopped and drifted in space for a few minutes before the helm officer managed to bring the ship to a steady impulse speed.
"Damage report" Isabella asked loudly over the sound of flames and sparks that had erupted from the consoles on the bridge.
"Deck four is destroyed, emergency forcefields are holding but we're in a bad way. Warp drive is offline, we've got impulse and thrusters. However we will be able to get warp drive back online within six hours"
"Six hours!" Isabella asked in a slightly raised surprised voice.
"We basically overloaded out drive sir, the best I can do is patch her up until we find a starbase, back in our own time; when we return to our own time"
"If we return to our own time" Isabella muttered under her breath.
"Captain, I do have some good news. We are not far from Khitomer. This is where Chancellor J'mpok withdrew from the Khitomer Accords. It will take nearly a day for the Kyon to get here. Abbott didn't think we would ever make it here and stop!"
"Thats better news!" Isabella said. "Begin repairs, I want engines and weapons back online. I also want that new stealth technology they installed brought online. I want to catch Abbott and stop him from Assassinating the Chancellor, even if it means having to go through a war."

(The next day)

The Haruhi Suzumiya sat in geostationary orbit below Khitomers southern pole hiding them from sensors. The Kyon had come into sensor range an hour ago and was on final approach. So was the flagship of the Klingon Empire.
"Captain..." Abanoi said. "The Federation Diplomatic ship has just dropped out of warp... Captain their aboard the Enterprise"
"Right on time" Isabella said. "Where are the Klingons"
"They will arrive in twelve minutes. The Kyon will arrive in fourteen"
"Red Alert!"

The bridge darkened as they watched the Klingon Battleship drop out of warp.
"Helm, I want an intercept course plotted for the Kyon. When Ensign Abbott drops out of warp engage them and chase them away"
"What about the other ships?" the helmsman asked.
"Good point" Isabella said. "We'll emit a Charged Particle Burst at both ships, we should be able to temporarily blind their sensors!".
"We're ready" Engineering reported.

The Kyon dropped out of warp.
"Sensors now!" Isabella ordered. Instantly the Haruhi Suzumiya blasted a Charged Particle Burst at both ships blinding their sensors. Then rushed in to combat the Kyon.
"Captain the Kyon is disguised, he's using a Holographic Emitter to pretend to be a Klingon Shuttle" Abanoi reported. "And he's sending false hails claiming to be a member of the Klingon High Council here to present information about...."
"About?"
"About Federation Treachary and how the Enterprise can't be trusted".
"Do you think the Klingons will believe him?"
"I don't know sir" Abanoi replied.
"Open fire on the Kyon!" Isabella ordered. The bright orange phaser cut across space and hit the Kyon.

The Kyon opened fire on the Haruhi Suzumiya. The ship shook as phasers and torpedo's struck the shields.
"He's no match for us!" Abanoi said.
"Disable his shields and beam him aboard!" Isabella said. "I want him to answer for what he has done here". The Haruhi Suzumiya opened a volley fo phaser shots and quantum torpedo's destroying the Kyon's shield emitters. Within seconds the transporter room had locked onto Ensign Abbott and beamed him into the ship's brig.
"Destroy the Kyon, we can't risk the Thelaron Weapons falling into the Klingon's... or the Federations hands!".
"Captain!" Abanoi said. "They can see us!" The Klingons are heading this way!"
"Blow the Kyon up!" Isabella said. Quantum Torpedo's flew across space and Isabella watched as the Kyon exploded in a haze of light and fire.

"Starfleet Vessel! You have commited an act of war! You're superiors will hear about this, you will be destroyed! Pa'tak!"
Isabelal swore out loud. The reports of how this diplomatic mission went was classified and now she knew why, because her own actions of mercy started a war that would kill millions.
"Helm, get us out of here!" she shouted.
"Aye sir, the Enterprise and the Klingon vessel are in pursuit. Rear Admiral Quinn is hailing us from the Enterprise"
"No response, just get us out of here!" Isabella ordered.

Eventually after landing the Haruhi Suzumiya on an asteroid they managed to evade the Enterprise and the Klingons. Isabella listened to the Federations News Network as the Klingons and Federation declared war. it was her fault and on her shoulders. She walked into the brig later that day to find Ensign Abbott sitting with his head in his hands.
"So instead of saving millions you have condemmed millions to death. Some Starfleet Officer you are!" she said angrily. It was a good job there was a forefield between them. "You're looking at charges of sabotage, treason, theft, attemptive murder and unauthorised time travel. We'll be getting back to our normal time frame in a few hours. When this is sorted they'll send you to a penal colony for the rest of your natural life, you'll have plenty of time to live with your guilt!"
"Captain..."
"What!"
"I'm sorry..."
"Its a little late for that isn't it. You disgrace me!". Isabella turned and walked off.

(Later)

The Haruhi Suzumiya had managed to return to the present day. However their calculations were a little off. They arrived a few minutes early and therefore came face to face with themselves. They watched as the past Kyon made a run for the Sophronia.
"Quickly! Beam the survivers of the Sophronia to sickbay! We're not letting them die twice!". The Sophronia exploded in a blast of yellow fire.
"We have them captain, all survivors accounted for!".
"Thank god!" Isabella said. They had a few seconds to get away as they watched their past selves disappear into the vortex.
"Lieutenant, close that vortex!" Isabella ordered.
"With pleasure" Abanoi said as she fired phaser to close the vortex.

(Present day)

So thats how this all began. It turns out that a 'Ghost ship' appeared at the scene where the Enterprise and Chancellor J'mpok were and destroyed a strange unidentified Klingon Shuttle. Most Starfleet officer's believed that to be a rumour or a tale, but now I know that it was me and the Haruhi Suzumiya. Ensign Abbott is under guard in the Brig and the surivivors of the USS Sophronia are recovering in sickbay. The Haruhi Suzumiya is limping back to Starbase 517 for repairs and to offload Ensign Abbott, I'm thinking that Starfleet Intelligence and Temporal Investigations are going to have a field day with this one. However I will admit, I'm not looking forward to the repercussions.

This is Captain Isabella Shapiro of the USS Haruhi Suzumiya, encrypt log for level ten or above access only. Save and end...

After fending off the Borg once more, I am sad to announce that my treasured first officer, Commander Mirra, has been placed in the brig. As for the exact charges, I don't know, but I do know that one of the charges is collaborating with the Borg.

We lost 19 starships today, including the Providence. To see my old vessel go down with my old friends on board pained me. But at least they weren't assimilated.

The Borg seemed to know all our tactical maneuvers, even thought they were never used yet. They were designed to fight the Borg, and my crew had devised them. The only people who knew was myself and my senior officers. So it could have been anyone of my officers. Although, after careful investigation, the data was downloaded from Mirra's quarters using her own security code. Even thought I doubt that Mirra would be so foolish to use her own codes, it could still be evidence.

Is she really guilty? Is she being framed? The truth is yet to be revealed.

Starfleet Command has ordered us to the Cestus System. A new Borg threat has been uncovered, and the fleet has been order to neutralize the threat. I'm not sure how well we will preform without Mirra. She is quite the dedicated officer. An Andorian tactical officer, to be exact.

Hopefully, we will get this matter sorted out soon. Either way, we must get the Borg situation under control, before more people get hurt.

After picking up ambassadors from all over the quadrant to discus a temporary alliance. To remove the Borg threat. Unknown to me at the time my first officer Commander Tarah has given our position away to the Borg.

We are currently being pursued bye 2 Borg cubes. I'm not sure how much longer we can remain at warp 9.99. Witch is well past the warp cores designed speed. we are running out of options we have sent out a distress call and no response. I recently have given the call for all passengers to the saucer section and separated it from the star drive In hope that it will find help in time. In the meantime she is in the brig. In the meantime she will remain in the brig.

But what is bothering me the most is why did my first officer betray the location of this meeting. Her family was assimilated by the Borg. She has bin under my command since she was an ensign. She has never done anything like or near something like this at all. If we survive this it is out of my hands and she will be court marshalled. Unless a formidable reason for this unacceptable action is found

All we can do is hope the saucer section finds help and bring temporary piece until the Borg threat is eliminated.

Mong-Dech was not grumpy or furious. His daughter La'tal does not like serving aboard the battle cruiser. His wives grow weary of her insubordination regarding her on-board education. Even his parents do not wish to home school her at times. On the other hand, such a display of independence is very heart warming to the family, so it is usually tolerated. Today was different, with one wife in the ready room observing diplomatic protocol procedures, and the other working closely in junction with the senior operations officer on the bridge the general had no choice but to escort the adolescent himself. "Adolescent," for Klingons in the 24th century this is a strange oxymoron, the young woman is almost thirty years old. By Klingon standards however . . . His daughter had read his revolutionary debriefing to his fleet and allies, she particularly took disregard for his comment that, "education lasts your entire life...while formal education might only take 10%," and to, "...get used to the idea of em-betterment." Originally a comment on the KDF work and learn program La'tal decided it was a personal insult. Mong-Dech only replied that if she wanted to live in urban poverty as he did at her age, such an option was of course completely possible. There are many neighborhoods that did not benefit from his development of street wise alliances, and community outreach programs that he had helped to facilitate over the years. Most Klingon cities are very much like the capital, complete war zones.
While returning to the bridge after confining his daughter to quarters he imagined that La'tal would eventually continue with her studies as she normally did. He almost never explained to her the difficulties he faced during adolescents. He usually left that designation for his wives or other family members, or comrades who have known him long enough to mention. While he knew she would not see that he was honoring her with his wisdom, she did have the recompense to acknowledge that her temper had betrayed her-although she said nothing of the sort, he could read her body language.
As he wandered back to the turbo lift he worried about his wives reaction a little. He was not too harsh, although they should have no concerns that La'tal will be continuing her research. "We can not tell if she will be an engineer, a civic engineer, or a tactical consultant like her mothers," he mused to himself. Already La'tal was capable of granting stress to her mothers with the Klingon blade, but not quite yet the Bat'Leth. Even she would not dare oppose her grand parents, however, her mothers are quite proud of her for that. "A young KaBeTarg shows wisdom," he remembered his mother had doted towards her grand-daugher.
What was the use? He had very ordinary Occupational duties to attend to, and in his staging of preparedness, weeks in advance, the High Council demands his presence, his acknowledgement, his confirmation. To no one, NO ONE, does he respond to outside of Occupation Code Encryption during a mission preparedness protocol procedure. Very few members of the Occupational Fleet could for certain know what his duties and the duties of his crew were. The 'BaQ MonG-DecH' had the highest form of security clearance for all 'theoretical duties,' based on his proposals, empirical contracts and contacts within the high council. The ship rotation had been cleared from an Occupational agency, no spies were found, no contraband, no illegal weapons or vengeance seekers were aboard to the highest level of knowledge available to the General. No fanatics, no harmful aliens, no Federation members, no indication of Borg, Founders, Tal Shiar, the list goes on and on, nothing.
Suppose he were to be on a mission to join the Occupation Fleet and directly oppose the Klingon factions of the Nefarious Corporate Oligarchy, there would be no way in hell Mong-Dech was going to tell the Chancellor's office anything at this stage of the mission. Just the same, three weeks, a month, two months, even House of J'mPoc fleet ships were told by the offices of the High Council to warn Mong-Dech that his non-compliance was an insult to the Empire! To him! An insult? He was following security protocols ad nauseum, yes that was factual, however not unusual.
A private message from J'mPoc said, "They say you must comply to threat of treason, this is nonsense, when you are ready respond to their claim." That message came yesterday and was the Chancellor's private encryption, of course Mong-Dech could prove this to anyone, even to anyone aboard his ship, and he of course only mentioned the existence of such a message to his wives, after they had completed their shifts and their daughter had eaten and had retired to her quarters. He imagined that the High Council individual who was hounding him with useless hyperbole was completely incapable of understanding the security risks they were creating for him.
There were members of the Occupation that took an aggressive oppositional stance to his being in league with the murderer of Martok. Mong-Dech himself suffered shame that neither faction could find ability to co-operate before fatality occured. However, not to dishonor Martok, he had either suffered too great a health risk at the hands of the Dominion or had become a genocidal maniac. There were too many Gorn in the Empire and a hostile takeover of the Hegemony was barbaric even by Klingon standards. Of course there were other political issues, however Mong-Dech had fought long and hard for equality and civil rights in the Empire, this was too much.
Compared to today however, Gorn integration had not found such a high level of acceptance during Martok's reign. In many ways Mong-Dech was suspicious that Martok staged his death to compete to gain equal rights for the Empire. This was something that was only whispered in his quarters.
Recently the High Council had granted his right to succession as his 'field promotion,' during the Occupation of the Corporate Hierarchy Stronghold. It had been years since he ratified his field promotion with five long years of military tactical training, almost all of which was classified. Occupy Generals who did not heed the High Council's concerns for an up to date military education were de-accommodated. However many had made significant gains, and were by no means unseasoned captains. Most Captains of the Occupation were there by merit alone, academic and by right of passage, be that as it may. Not all. This was difficult for Mong-Dech, if the High Council was to be bought off by the Nefarious Corporate Oligarchy, then most Empirical equality, economic or otherwise, was doomed. Gaardox Mong-Dech was very concerned that education, and military advancement through proper Empirical channels should be considered by all in the Occupation. Let us not give any excuses to the Nefarious Corporate Oligarchy, let them know that other than they, this IS a civil war!
Mostly his rhetoric was considered revolutionary gander by Occupation members, however membership to the Occupation had in recent years swollen to such a degree that in fleet training had to occur to the utmost standards of the Empire, in all areas and facilitation.
"Hah! The High Council..., after so many honor filled decades of my service they obviously must want to disturb my mission to grant me a promotion to Major General," So mused General Mong-Dech. "They must wait." Gaardox then considered the exact nature of his duties, in the empirical bridge chair. What he wanted is to steal away the hours in his quarters with his wives and a kask of bloodwine. What he would be doing is confirming Empirical Occupation convoy lines, KDF and Empirical Occupation Fleet defense strategies -as they are projected within bridge astro-metrics, and finally confirm certain staging quantities. Certain confirmations could not be left to the Quarter-master. They were too important, whether to him personally, the occupation, or the Empire, he would not distinguish, that was classified, and usually only he could know for certain.
The only reason he was thankful to leave the turbo lift was because he was tired of rehearsing his duties in his mind. Both wives were still sure to be busy, now the Quartermaster himself needed his attention, well, at least he wasn't a member of the High Council. Twice during the tirade O'Wa'TaQ MonG-DecH emerged from the General's quarters to inform Gaardox personally that the High Council had left a message for him. Three times Gaardox could tell that T'Sha MonG-DecH wanted to execute the quartermaster and discuss La'tal. Everyone on the bridge could with empirical certainty ascertain that Gaardox MonG-DecH was prepared to murder specific members of the Klingon High Council.
"There is no enacting security protocols against the Corporate Oligarchy! If we cannot supply the Occupation on the Negh Var moons, then we can only expect further enslavement of Klingon citizens! THIS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED! This is not a military or a priority channel, I most repose the Occupation Fleet at this time, do not signal any member of the Occupation Fleet again! You are being outrageous! It is my duty and honor to serve the Occupation in this manner, It is my duty and HONOR to serve the Empire in this manner, this is why I and others of the Occupation seized a field promotion, and this is why many of us continued our empirical training to become Empirical Fleet Officers. Do not let your dusty law books interrupt relevant Empirical protocol! Tomorrow we may receive the signal to join with the Borg Initiative Protocol Alliance and help defend the galaxy, DO NOT CONTINUE TO DISTURB MY COUNTENANCE IN THIS MANNER! I will receive your messaging at the proper and respectful end of my current duty mission - QA'PLA!"
Factually he went twice a year with a mixed fleet alliance to disturb Borg activity. Sometimes it took too many months, sometimes it only took weeks. There was no telling. The way the High Council told the story however, you would think that Mong-Dech owed the Empire for their patronage. Gaardox assured the representative that this was in no way the expected case, and began the empirical task of blocking all further signals from the High Council. This to was protocol. He had heard that Km'Pec had at times delayed the High Council in a similar manner, war or diplomacy being more relevant. Gowron was very intuitive to this degree. Martok, well, Martok was mostly very angry with the High Council, and Gaardox knew why. Gowron would engineer diplomacy with the High Council in amusing ways that reinforced his relationships with his Captains and Generals. Martok would simply threaten the High Council. Gaardox was to assume that in the 25th century that nothing should threaten the sanctity of any relevant mission to the Empire. That said, they, almost like a weather forecast, neither the Occupation Fleet nor the Empire could predict any Borg evaluation at this time, and inner fleet combat within the Empire had practically halted, at least by 24th century standards. This is something that was not whispered, but bragged on by members of his house. The only real enemy was within, and the Borg, and even the Borg held no real challenge, merely an extreme nuisance. That is if the Borg did not catch one off guard. The Council had changed frankly.
Mogue, Martok, Gowron, Duras, Km'Pec, all High Council warriors were welcome and equally opposed to the Corporate Oligarchy. D'rmQot MarG the political philosopher to the Empire noted that Km'Pec had gained politically after Km'Pec's decline. Before Gowron had been defeated, the House of Mogue was fully re-accommodated. The House of Gowron had gain respect, civility and respectability after the fall of Gowron, however no re-accommodation was necessary. The House of Duras gained responsibility and deaccommodation was continually an eminent threat to that house. After the death of Martok, it was very strange, there was no infighting, and many diplomatic appointments were assigned grants of accommodation in light of his loss. Statues, civic centers and prominent streets, shuttle ways, and landing spaces, education and many other relevant deployments - a special office of his House had to be designed to complete the business of Empire in his absence. Gaardox was simply left to assume that as much that had been civic use of the Chancellorhood of Martok would so become of his dismissal. This never sat well with Gaardox, he was still uninterested in the loss of Km'Pec the Chancellor of his youth, why should he, how could he appreciate these losses? Years had passed, yet this still unnerved him. It was common that prominent officers of the Occupation could report directly to House observation in the High Council, crimes against the well-being of Klingons in general were becoming exceedingly difficult to create within the Empire. For this he himself would celebrate as a victory someday in Sto-vo-kor, such as he routinely did now as a living Klingon.
What's this? The High Council associate went so far as to assume that Gaardox had a priority of orgiastic Occupational concerns for victory, and this had improperly adjusted his considerations for victory. Gaardox had no problem blocking all further Empirical contacts on any ship channel aboard the 'BaQ MonG-DecH' from that point on. Gaardox isolated frequencies, entered his codex, and perpetuated signal designage.
Mong-Dech took further relish in observing the Occupational fleet lines in his astrometrics bridge observation post [his chair,] and took pains to communicate with Captains and to personally advise, challenge, or send salutation. Diplomatic relations had been strained recently again as the offices of the Corporate Oligarchy had been caught spying on members of the High Council and surveying messages in relation to the Occupational Fleet forces. Gaardox thought this would entice the High Council to embellish in their alliances with the Occupational and allied Fleets. It did so for a time, now however their actions proved too insidious. Going against mission security would look like unnecessary scrutiny to the Chancellor. Why must we tolerate these politicians?
One after another Fleet line was observed, subsumed, re-prioritized, or congratulated. Qa'Pla, he finally began to notice that the office posts of his wives had been fulfilled and that in his brother's absence, his wives filled the second in command vocation by the side of his com chair. Horg MonG-DecH was busy in his own Battle Cruiser on another side of the Empire doing the exact same duty. It was almost strange that it would take two individuals to fill his post, however, the family of MonG-DecH had foreseen this. T'Sha had put her hand on his shoulder and whispered that Horg had signaled some time after Gaardox had blocked the Council's beck and callings. T'Sha had squeezed his shoulder hard when O'Wa'TaQ had leaned into the Chair of Gaardox and suggested that since the supply convey considerations were complete that possibly it would be wise to hail Horg and see how progress was in the Eta Eridani to this regard.
Laughter filled the bridge of the 'BaQ MonG-DecH'! "It is not possible to imagine the look on the Council Member's face as you have described, and yes, my duties are complete today, thank you for describing why you have secreted your Empirical transmissions." Crew members and officers alike rejoiced in moments like this. Sometimes Klingon supply lines were raided. Sometimes this occurred by the hand of other Klingons. Mercenarial or otherwise, security and Fleet responsiveness had to be the priority. "I suppose they only wanted to accommodate your new rank MAJOR General!" Thunderous laughter. Terribly deafening to those who were not Klingon. Why did Horg always get to tell the joke?
"Brother once again you are too psychic for your own good, the honor of saying as much was to be mine-no matter-you are my blood!" Having a younger brother was not a particularly savory privilege. However, his family loved him, so did he.
"My humility to your honor, of course older brother, please allow your non-Klingon officers to have their hearing checked upon your notoriously skilled Gorn medics."
"Younger brother again you miss the point, Gorn officers are aboard this bridge as well." Gaardox had to admit he was otherwise often enough flabbergasted if it were not for the fact that Horg was a competent Captain, tactician and engineer.
"Damn another year of lizards smelling deafness toward my direction? I have had enough of this! Pipe me through to your shipboard com at once!" Gaardox complied and Horg explained the joke and the insult and the medical infraction to all aboard both the 'BaQ MonG-Dech', as well as Horg's own, the 'Dazaqul'. All due to the sake of the mission and the severity of Horg's thoughtlessness, he outdid himself and impressed Gaardox and his immediate family on that bridge to his own satisfaction. For years to come Horg's self criticality and admittance of wrong doing was unfounded in Empirical Fleet history. Few captains would admit such a mistake to their own crew, yet to say anything to the crew of their ranking general. This was not an unusual practice in regard of the telling of victories, or other important revelations. It wasn't really an unusual practice in general, the MonG-DecH family was known for incite-fullness and creativity, although Gaardox himself was often enough seen by individuals as esoteric. The logic of his actions had to be evaluated, over time more and not fewer came to understand the relevance of his otherwise seemingly random methodologies. This one however was all Horg's doing, and of relatively no surprise. There had only been two other such announcements, a ship carrying dilithium supplies had been secreted to a hidden Klingon Occupational Worker's Union Refinery, and a Fleet scuttling had been thwarted by the use of five cloaked bird's of prey. And related shipments of relevance were not prevented, and were in fact to arrive ahead of schedule, but by now, everyone in the Beta Quadrant would know, that particular battle cruiser had a fleet compliment of five additional vessels. Gaardox noted a deep chuckling amongst his bridge members upon that particular mention. It was an obvious trap for the Nefarious Corporate Oligarchy, mercenaries of bankers, as Horg had noted to further embellish his compliments and to distract from his misuse of tongue. Horg was lauded of course. Gaardox did almost miss his audacity at times however and La'tal's curfew was extended to give toast to her uncle for a fine joke, too good a sixth sense, and excellent and exciting reportage of Fleet Activity. Fourth meal was bloody and alive in more than one parameter. The next day personal reports of such toasting would permeate within the 'BaQ MonG-DecH', and within the Occupational Fleet.
First morning duty was to report to the Chancellor however. Gaardox did not like to have to confine himself out of his bed to his in-quarter's office, however his wives had an extended rest period and Gaardox was on double duty until all transports of relevance were transpired, and until it could look as if such an event had indeed occurred, which of course was an entirely different chronological proxy. One that he did not mind relating on a secure channel to Jm'Poc.
"Don't brag to me Gaardox, you have a Captain and a Commander on board. You can make your Occupational appointments look as important as you wish, I will remain unimpressed, except by that of Horgs reportage, those mercenaries were too careless by all regard, that is obvious to even the High Council."
"DaGott-Jm'Poc, you sound very much like my father..." Gaardox observed grimly.
"HeH Gaardox, even before lights on ship hours you can compliment an ugly old General..."
"Perhaps you think I am vain to compliment myself in such a fashion, or that I am ignorant of the fact that you are no longer a General."
"Don't be wry Gaardox. Such wit is indeed vanity as you suggest."
"I would NEVER choose to interrupt members of THOSE houses in such a disrespectful manner!"
"Yes, it comes to me now, they are daft are they not?" That stopped the General coldly. What could he say to that? "Say nothing comrade of the revolution, we are united in many things, and what is not we make up for in compliance to the standards of honor. You are not incorrect."
"I can only imagine so. You cannot forget that I begged admirals and generals alike to retest the former Chancellor, that the Founders were an inconceivable threat, that we should not be opposed to the clinical findings, and tactical warnings of the Federation in this regard-"
"Yet are you disappointed Gaardox? Today no one can doubt your concerns." Gaardox named the representative for the council that had insulted him, and he and the Chancellor spoke briefly of that Klingon's house, to no noticeable satisfaction of either of them. Gaardox almost inspired civil war upon his testing requests regarding the former Chancellor and the Founder's doppelganger. "Gaardox, you have not spoken his name yet, you must learn to honor those chosen in Sto-Vo-kor."
"Chancellor, it defeats all purposes in my mind, that you continued that conflict with Martok. I know he passed all medical exams, and his tactical reasoning was never proven to be driven by xenophobia-"
"Fair enough, MARTOK, was to his own degree honorable, say nothing more then. His death is not by my wishing either, I can only say that much, and this is not the first time we have discussed this. Gaardox we will discuss the inept behavior of the High Council, the unscrupulous behavior of the House of Duras, how it effected the houses of Martok and Mogue, and how it effects us all, perhaps their impropriety - the council member's rude detachment is a form of racism against you, or perhaps classism - I may not be the psychic your brother is, yet I can tell what you must think at times. Factually we pressed you too hard in your empirical tactical research to accommodate you into Empirical Generality if you will excuse the pun. We in no way or formation were to guild you towards immaculate indemnity. We can't have every single anarchist simply announce a General decree off the top of their proclivity. I recall you relate to those factions, yet are merely affiliated, nothing more...That isn't relevant, what is relevant is that you and your allies proved that members of the Corporate Oligarchy committed enslavement to Klingon citizens, in a move of respite, this 'economic inequality' you and your allies so rally against...we will be having less of that for the future and sanctity of the Empire, I can assure you. The High Council has an even dimmer view of such behaviors and inequities than I or YOU! As hard as it might be to believe, you are right, we must strive against the Borg, forge alliances against that faction, end the civil wars and inner turmoil within the Empire, recuperate and ecosynthesize war torn planets, your assistance, the assistance of your Occupation is appreciated by all Gaardox, not just by those in your alliance network. Just be cautious, I will let it be known to the High Council that your business at this time is an empirical priority. Don't openly oppose them, just ignore them until you arrive back on Qo'Nos. Qa'Pla." Gaardox could only be moved to be stunned in a poignant manner after such an empirical diatribe.
It was sometimes better if the Chancellor was angry or had ordered some kind of recall or re-premonition. Gaardox had his own standing order. His own. From his own tactical consideration to the best of his own rationality, with his own advisers, and officers. Only the Chancellor could appropriate Gaardox to the vacuum of space in such a way. Nothing, nothing at all, an Empire of nothing, and Gaardox owned it all. In his own facility Gaardox had created this himself. He should be pleased, instead he only saw it as another example of the frailty of the political council. He wondered if the council would hold their pledge against the criminality of the Corporate Oligarchy? For once he feared civil war. Not when he knew for certain that Martok was an imposter, not during the occupational 'hazards' during warfare, not during diplomatic considerations against the Gorn Hegemony, and rarely during fighting against the Dominion or the Cardasians. Even when facing a Federation fleet, he calmly took to protocol and worked on a diplomatic solution. A much dire enemy was the enemy of the enemy, the Borg Initiative carved out certain exacting latitudes, and Horg's engineers were making progress with Borg technology. "No fear, they are the Borg they will be deassimilated!" He had informed the Federation Admiral, Gaardox's two battle cruisers and the five vessels of the Federation. When the temporary border dispute had been agreed upon he was later callously complimented on Qo'Nos as being compliant of order #535963, the preservation of Borg Initiative Protocal standards. As inglorious as it was, it was the correct decision, and the brother's MonG-DecH lived to face those Federation ships against a common foe, which was his Empirical designation and right of succession. No one would argue law against that fact.
In such a right he ordered his captain to helm, and Gaardox joined his wives in rest.
He took a late position on his shift and followed through with his duties eventually conceding to the fact that he preferred to his own wives as commanders-gender equality being especially attractive to female Klingons, he would be mercilessly complimented at a later time. In the month that followed, twice his wives commanded birds of prey for various duties following through with Occupational shipment protocols. In one victory an entire ship had been seized by his wives use of tractor beams and the 'BaQ MonG-DecH' torpedoes. Horg being innovative, had found a way to cloak a shipment deployment vessel and innocuously conducted scientific research in an adjacent sector while playing cat and mouse games with an apposing mercenarial fleet.
There were more minor victories during this time. La'tal had finished her section of study so she went on to combat training, which was actually overdue in a sense. Not being the only person her age on board was a broadening experience for her, and her family members were once again treated like Klingons due to her appreciation. La'tal had transferred to Horg's ship, as he started the mission earlier and would arrive back earlier, La'tal could take this opportunity to learn the complicated fundamentals of engineering. Those lessons would reflect well on Horg and La'tal alike for lifetimes to come.
The council did not again respond, and this was well enough, although nothing came direct from the chancellor again, and that was even better.
There was some bad news, the engineers who had installed phaser cannons at the community stronghold of his family had not been paid. Every so often defense upgrades must be maintained. Since he could not communicate with offices of the Council, he could not pass on the expense either. He would have to pay the minimal fee in immediacy and be reimbursed by the empire at a later time, which was not good equity.
Gaardox has no physical office outside of his ships or family house. He had to conduct his affairs with the council personally as the ship was in arrival procedure. He was able to join his wives and greet his daughter and parents, however he had to return to the capital afterwards for reimbursement purposes and to make appointment with the very same council person who was apparently still capable of putting him off.
Gaardox had been sitting at this particular office for five minutes. He had ordered, the standing lieutenant to remove the media device from the wall. It was funny walking into these offices. A notorious General of the Occupation in full KDF fleet armor barging through every en-pass of this council office, he could put fear into the hearts of all Klingons, until it was time to politely sit at the office couch and wait for his appointment. The media monitor had been blarthing on about Occupational victories in the Teu Dewa, [still named Theta Eridani in common Klingon,] Gaardox was so bored of the Tal Shiar. At this point in time the Empire tolerated them and nothing more, the Tal Shiar disgrace themselves-Romulan Republicans will not tolerate them! Listening to the reportage of Borg technology being sold in the Nequencia system was interesting until the reporter took liberties to describe the technology being sold.
"If I can fabricate it in my father's engineering laboratory, then it is no longer Borg technology!" The lieutenant chuckled at this. Things were likely to be adequate today, but not if the monitor should remain.
Then Gaardox was forced to concede to the digitally written media. Blarth!
The lieutenant received a signal on his desk monitor, then he typed something. He stood and requested the General's side arm and any other weapons. Today Gaardox had a side arm, a phaser rifle, his knife, and his bat'lith. The Bat'lith belonged to his father, was not merely ornamental, and Gaardox's own was hanging in his father's house. Since his wives and his daughter had never missioned together this was an occasion for honor, so he explained to the lieutenant.
"Honestly the council member, your employment figurehead, was so rude to me I could kill him with my bare hands, it just might sound to you like a cliche however, I will advise you not to be involved with an internal conflict should one occur." Gaardox was really bored now, it was respectful to warn the lieutenant, not that that Klingon was a spring Targ, however this could have been handled delicately at a distance, in a more appropriate fashion. Gaardox sat on the couch again and looked exasperated. He then went so far to explain, as the lieutenant placed his weapons on his desk, that he hadn't been on planet for more than a day actually. Luckily he had plenty of fresh air, jet lag just isn't a Klingon concept regarding space travel in the 25th century, or at least it would be so rarely given technological advances. Gaardox in earnest read through a parenting journal, one that professed some academic background, and he found that it was not especially counter-intuitive to said regard. After a time the Lieutenant stood and announced the council member.
"Gonzl'HuT Targ of the House of Targ..."
"Qa'Pla."
"Qa'Pla." Gaardox stood looking at Gonzl'HuT, and standing referred back to his article. "It seems that families that recycle or reclaim their cleaning water have more communal harmony, ah, and you missed it, black marketeering is on the rise in the Theta Eridani sector. You can purchase a Borg toaster if you wish..." Gaardox again looked at the councilperson and held his thumb on the page pause of his written media device. MonG-DecH mentioned as such with no sense of harmony or irony. His sarcasm was raw and dry with not a hint of deference.
"General Gaardox HeH HeT MonG-DecH, you will submit to a retinal scan."
"Ergh-putaq, I am in battle uniform, alarms would have been committed here were it not for that fact, my communications device is likely being monitored by your sensors!"
"General, this is not a battle cruiser, our devices are limited to media and marginal scanning, as well as our imagination and observations." Gaardox removing his thumb from the media device had to submit to such a scan.
After the retinal examination the Lieutenant was taken to a different waiting area, so he assumed. Once in the smaller room with no media other than what he had brought with him from the assembly area of the office, he realized, without being told any details at all about why he was being called upon, he was in captivity. As the lieutenant closed the door Gaardox caught on and laughed a hearty laugh, he was uncertain who was to die today. The door obviously had a magnetized locking device that closed soundlessly in a suspicious manner that would otherwise seem to defy the laws of physics.
"What an idiot!" Gaardox mused. He sat, got comfortable. He finished the article. Apparently Klingon families that raise targ, and grow or raise food for the animals that targ eat, are the most well educated, and well adjusted members of Klingon society. They are more relaxed, less stressed, more competent warriors, more creative engineers, more tactically logical, have a higher self conception of honor and have more fun at parties.
"My family is doomed..." Thought Gaardox.
Once finished with the media article, and rather than simply find the next most interesting factoid, he used his wrist bracer communication device and used the existing computer system in the building to contact the chancellor on his private data channel.
"He really is a son of a targ..."
"I haven't bothered to check the door, I must assume that it is magnetically sealed however. There is one other thing, it has come to my attention that the council offices and this building's security system are quite substandard."
"Qa'Pla Gaardox." The Targ House was plainly racist and corroded with divisiveness. Using an open diplomatic channel such as Gonzl'Hut had, had been conniving. Had Gaardox responded to such a message the entire operation of the Occupational Fleet could have been put in dire jeopardy. He was not willing to reveal his ship's location or announce his fleet deployments to the Beta Quadrant. Pretending to be insulted on protocol the House of Targ intended to tamper with Occupational Fleet deployment. Gaardox also had considered that the message could have been sent encrypted by an alliance House or faction. He had been surprised that J'mPoc's secure message to him via the 'BaQ MonG-DecH' did not contain specific related information spelling out to Gaardox the concerns of the council. Even the fact that the Chancellor did not know the motives of the council seemed suspicious to Gaardox. Whatever the reason, the House of Targ would be shamed mercilessly for their lack of common sense. With that thought Gaardox smugly took a nap.
Gaardox awoke to the typicality of his station. J'mPec had arrived and was berating the councilor Gonzl'HuT Targ of Targ. There was a large beeping noise and the door of his cell glowed red hot. There was a pause. After the pause J'mPec went into a much more pronounced diatribe with inflection and particular consideration to Targ husbandry in a kind of intended strata regarding biology and physiological inheritance. Apparently the lieutenant had misread the chancellor, and the cell door would soon cool and open automatically.
"Oh look, such a hero's welcome! This treatment to an Occupation GENERAL! You have some nerve and some delusion of your station! Gonzl'Hut Targ of Targ House, tell the General what you have unceremoniously announced to me earlier." Again the berating was better at a distance, Gaardox was certain that his own admonishments had similar capacity, so he was best to quietly observe and learn should he someday wrongly insult a lower ranked officer. "TELL HIM NOW!"
"Gaardox HeT HeH Mong-Dech, son of Mong-Dech, and general to the Empire, specific to the Occupation forces, you are now commended in rank, before the Chancellor, with full merit and approval of the Council, to the rank of Major General."
"His name is HeH HeT MonG-DecH, so named after the other celestials Cthulu...a vicious creature...a fair name for a Klingon who's primary duty during the Occupation was killing mercenaries hired by factions allied to your House! He became bored with the uselessness of defeating Klingon life and began to take prisoners instead. Tell me Gaardox, how many Corporate Mercenaries did your alliance eventually converge?"
"This number is in the millions J'mPoc, I almost always have to review this, the number is always being updated. Myself, I estimate that I shared the responsibility of saving a few million Klingon lives in those conflicts. Some became conditional members of the Occupation forces."
"Son of the House of Targ, how many of Km'Pec's alliance members did die in your House's name during his beguilement? HOW MANY?" Gaardox looked at the Son of a Targ wryly and calculated this number by using his communication device, linked to his media device, which he still had at hand. Scrutinizing the media device he chuckled to himself and then faced the device outwards, so even the lowly lieutenant could read it. The article had a plain, although obviously dated casualty number related to this military incident. It had been profoundly noted that the House of Targ acted without regard during the hostilities between Gowron and Km'Pec factions, and that the House of Targ had been especially brutal. The Chancellor grabbed the datafile on the General from the council member, signed it in an amazing display of codex, [this is a code that only the Chancellor could have,] and handed it to the General.
"Qa'Pla Gaardox, your family is outside waiting in your family vehicle. Apparently you have two birds of prey in orbit, so we had to wait for transport, however I am told you slept soundly," J'mPoc at times like this would chuckle whenever MonG-DecH exhibited crass behavior, not this time.
"I always sleep through jet lag."
"BaH, it no longer exists Gaardox, its only a psycho-somatism. I must further reprimand the council member, my elite guard have Occupied the building son of MonG-DecH, tell your newest engineer that my nephew will be calling her in light of her newly founded education in engineering."
"Indeed, it has become the talk of the galaxy." This time J'mPoc laughed aloud, grateful also for a real empirical focus of relevance.
"Qa'Pla J'mPoc."

After seeing the movie Cloud Atlas I sort of began in earnest to think of living a future lifetime as a Klingon as a rational if weird consideration. Who could think to reincarnate as a Klingon? Only Einstein could know how a previous lifetime would be part of the chronological future. I don't know what he would think of the practical meta-physics that would have to function to that regard. I decided that the Klingon home world is even worse than it appears on television, and in some ways better. As an activist I hold no illusions of the harsh realities of political life in the Klingon Oligarchy. Gaardox has a less than ideal relationship to Klingon authority, however we have to assume that his is better than most. To live to see four Chancellors would have to be quite an honor, however an unsurprisingly frustrating one. Like politics on 20th or 21st century Earth, one can see that the polemics involved in a Klingon political-sociological outlook are to say the least difficult. I had already established Gaardox as a Klingon revolutionary who was especially sensitive to issues regarding equality.

That's when I decided that it is as hard for Gaardox to be Klingon as it usually is to be human, for most humans. Worf was a great example to me. We would never really know anything about Klingon upper management if it were not for Worf of Mogue.
Anyway I am an artist, I started watching Generations when I was barely a teenager, and I'm sure I watched TOS when I was barely out of diapers. Nuq-Neh.

Last edited by allen1973; 10-02-2013 at 10:07 PM.
Reason: hoping to figure out how to remove post to introduce subject elsewhere

Lost in my thoughts, reflecting on the events leading up to where I stand now, and why I have a crewman in who might never walk again and another in locked in the brig. I'm still not sure what exactly happened on that station, what horrors might have taken place on the bridge of that ship...

If this started anywhere, it started at Risa. From what was supposed to be a simple vacation for a few of my crew turned into a nightmare, one of which had been tortured and subjected to who knows what experiments. This was of course after a brutal attack from what a man that we once saved, but not soon enough to keep him from becoming a monster.

In that in a sense, I suppose Krotious of Borg, as I hear he's calling himself now a days, was not the only monster to leave Risa that day. For the last few months since, there has been a noticeable change in the behavior of the Augment known only as Wraith. Slowly but surely, he's been becoming more violent with each passing month. Having been forced on numerous occasions to lash out, and in a few cases, kill... Who knew just what it would take to shatter some one like that.

When he was forced to kill a child, to save the lives of one hundred and seventy five people, potentially millions more, he had just broken. He returned to sleeping in sick bay, under the care of Dr. E'Saul. He had come to me and requested to be taken off of his duties as assistant to the Chief Engineer. Even when he did leave sickbay, he wandered the halls depressed and without purpose. When I would visit him, he would be quiet... Sullen. He would question me if what he did was right, if there were anyway to forgive himself and change what he'd become. To clean the unseen blood from his hands. E'Saul has become increasingly concerned at the possibility he might begin to hurt himself as a coping mechanism, if not worse.

David Keating, my tactical officer, had managed to mouth off at the wrong time. Normally Dave and Wraith don't get along, but seeing the boy act like this, even Keating tried to cheer him up. The problem there is Keating's humor is an... "acquired taste" at best. Keating had made a comment along the lines of "how can some one with such pointy ears be so sad". Needless to say, I wasn't expecting to have the turbolift open on a hallway full of heavily armed security all aimed at a young man holding my officer by the throat. He had Keating raised a good foot from the floor, pressed against the wall. Security had been alerted when Wraith nearly punched a hole through the wall next to Dave's head.

The Yeoman, who had been asleep in her bed on the other side of that wall, had been under the impression that the Geist had just been struck by a torpedo. While the crew doesn't know as much about what he has, or can do, there are plenty of rumors floating around. Enough to keep a corridor of heavily armed, highly trained soldiers from attacking in any case. Lt C. ErhAb, was forced to wake me up to come handle the situation personally. It seems, even through the aggression, my voice was still the voice of authority. His imprint on me was still strong enough that I was able to talk him down. As he returned to his senses, he was overcome by the same grief and guilt he's been torturing himself with. I walked them both to Medical, Dave had to be treated for minor neck trauma but would luckily only have a hoarse voice for a week to show for it.

Wraith himself was immediately sedated and sent into the scanner to try and assess what's going on. While the scanner can't really tell that he's in there, Dr. E'Saul is clever even for a Vulcan. She figured out that while we couldn't use our scanners, we really didn't have too. His entire immunoresponse system is based around Borg nanotechnology. While his body hides them as well, she found that she can still receive signals off them. The little buggers communicate between each other, and being tied into his body as they are, they're chock full of information about what's happening to him. Initial reports were showing intense imbalances on every level, with the nanites working overtime to try and stabilize them.

It definitely explained why he would just shut down like he had. Once the enhanced adrenal glands kicked into overdrive, it would drive the Vulcan's baseline aggression (which they normally suppress) through the roof. Once they shut down, the nanoprobes took over, to purge his system which is how his mood, his entire personality changed back. What bothered the Doctor more, was the cause. From the preliminaries, all she could surmise was that it was possibly that his body was in a slow break down, similar to what's commonly called 'clone degeneration'. It's part of the reason you only see genetic modifications, and rarely ever genetically created humanoids. It's too complicated, even the Jem'Hadar took decades to perfect, and Wraith for all we can tell, is just a prototype.

Two weeks had passed and Wraith had been receiving various treatments for imbalance and depression. For the most part, anything E'Saul injected into him was purged by the nanoprobes, making difficult to treat any of what was happening. Against my better judgment, but at the urging of the Doctor and my Tactical officer, I agreed to allowing chaperoned leave when we stopped to refuel and resupply at Drozana Station. After the incident in the corridor, Dave felt like he had to make a point in taking Wraith out as an olive branch. As a side note, when replacing the wall console in the hall, she found an odd fist shaped dent in the under-structure. To my surprise, Keating made the one mistake worse than angering Wraith: taking him to a bar.

From what I was told by the security team, things had been off to a good start. Lehla had been keeping a close eye on the two with an emergency transponder and a sedative, just in case he needed to be beamed directly to the brig. They started off at the bar ordering drinks. Nothing alcoholic of course, David's throat was still too sore, and frankly alcohol had no effects on Vulcans. Wraith sat by as Dave tried to hit on a few random girls. At one point Keating introduced his new "wing man" to dancing. For as many martial arts he may know, for as graceful and fluid as he may be in combat, from what ErhAb says, he could not for the life of him dance worth a damn.

This of course garnered a lot of attention from the crew of a Klingon ship. As they laughed, Keating decided to challenge them to a drinking contest. This is a challenge the Klingons take very seriously, and Keating had the proverbial ace in the hole. It was easy for Wraith to beat them at drinking, so when things escalated to arm wrestling and headbutts, Wraith again won hands down until the points of his ears poked through that long mess of hair he has. Up until that point, everyone had been laughing and having fun, so Lehla let it slide. Realizing they'd been had of course, the Klingons felt dishonored and a fight broke out, spreading like wild fire across the bar. Wraith and Keating in the middle of it all.

Normal civilians fled, the shady types either joined in, or just stayed to watch given how often fights breakout in Ferengi run bars. As Commander ErhAb tried to make her way to the center of the room to beam my idiots out, when a drunken bystander cracked her over the head with a glass bottle, taking off one of her antennae in the process. From there she ended up losing sight of Keating and Wraith, and about 90% of her balance. While severely debilitating, it wasn't really enough to keep her out of the fight. It's funny, that a race from a planet so cold, could be so fiery. The zhen could hardly stand, but she gave them hell all the same.

Wraith and Keating, however, were surrounded by drunk and angry Klingons. While Wraith was able to keep most of them back, Keating's shoulder still has issues since having it burned through with a phaser beam. Something one of the warriors took advantage of by dislocating it the first chance they got. Since Drozana was a bit of neutral ground, they had a strict "No Weapons" policy, but since it was a bar, it was a policy the Klingons followed. With that said, much like the young augment, taking away a warriors weapons, in no way, makes them any less dangerous. With Keating being injured, the Klingons singled him out as the weakest link. They would move in one way, forcing Wraith to step in to defend him, while attacking Keating from a different direction. They were clearly toying with their prey.

The funny thing is, at any given time, Wraith could have taken them all out. He could have maimed or out right killed them all easily, yet some how he was struggling to fight off a group of about ten to twelve. Normally I thought it would have been due to the degeneration, but it wasn't that, not by a long shot. Some how, even with all of his body at war against itself, Wraith was still doing his best to keep himself from going too far. I count my blessings for that. An isolated incident here or there is no problem, not with his current state, or in defense of others. But a room full of dead Klingons? There's no way I could stop Admiral Aviess from removing him from the ship and locking him up, if not worse. As much as it would kill me, I know that she would have no other choice. If he were any different, if Wraith were naturally aggressive, or ever turned, he would be the kind of threat a ship like the Geist was usually sent in to solve: Permanently.

But the boy was fighting.

It was a fight he would have possibly won even, had things not taken a turn for the worse.

The Klingons had grown restless toying with their prey, and decided it was time to move in for the kill. All but one of the attackers had piled in on Wraith, they knew they couldn't take a kill shot while he was defending the wounded officer. They did their best to hold him down as the lone Klingon standing grabbed Keating from behind, clawing into his wounded shoulder with one hand, the other pulling back to deliver a final blow. Lost in the moment and drunk with blood-lust, he didn't see the exhausted and bloodied Andorian stagger passed the other brawlers and get just close enough to dive at him. Of course whether it be luck, fate, or horrific misfortune, her loss of motor skills caused her to land on the wounded Keating instead, her own body soaking up what should have been the killing blow.

As they landed, Lehla still, by some miracle, had the wherewithal to clutch Keating as tight as she could and hit the emergency transponder, beaming them both into sickbay and alerting both Medical and Security teams. Wraith, who was forced to witness the whole thing, lost it. What little control he had was gone as his madness overcame him completely. From what the reports say, He was almost feral. His speed and skill was just gone, and replaced by the shear power of what he is. They said most of the fighting in the crowd when it started raining Klingons. Managing to get out from under the pile, he was throwing them, punching them, kicking them, hard enough to send them flying into the crowd. Had it not been for the Brak'lul and all that famous Klingon resilience, I'm sure some of them would have been outright murdered by the first strike.

At one point they say, even to an almost comical degree, that the white devil had grabbed one warrior by his legs, and swung him like a pipe into another, sending them both crashing not over, but through the bar. When the monster roared out, the Warriors knew this was a fight even they could not win. One of them pulled out a communicator and yelled "JOL YLCHU'!" As they were all ready to beam out, Wraith, in a blind rage leaped into the matter stream, being dragged with his victim, to the bridge of their ship. Once aboard the bridge, at least as I was told upon his return, was that he appeared in an animal state and had to be subdued by the Captain and two of her female officers, who had stayed behind to calibrate weapons. When I asked for clarification, I was surprised to learn that what Dr. E'Saul had misinterpreted as a degenerative disorder, had actually been something called "Pon Farr".

It would seem that during his captivity on Risa, one of the experiments done on him was infection by various microbes to test the autoimmune response of the nanotechnology. While the nanites removed the microbes there was one which set of a chain of biological dominoes. The nanoprobes were constantly purging his system of vital chemicals, which E'Saul theorized, kept violence from solving the issue. The lack of these chemicals, as well as the constant interference from the Borg technology, and him being only roughly eight years old, all led E'Saul to the "logical" misdiagnosis.

It wasn't until the second day, that we were finally hailed by the Klingon Captain. She would be personally dropping him off in her shuttle since they couldn't get a transporter lock on him. Meeting them at the airlock, I was surprised to see him, holding what was left of his uniform up at the waist, standing timidly between myself and three Klingon women who taunted him lightly with affection. One even grabbed his rear as he exited, causing his face to flush with a grayish tone as his expression became that of embarrassment. One even blew him a kiss as they closed the airlock door, erupting in laughter as they returned to their ship. They never said one word to me or took one step, they just dropped him off and were gone...

In the aftermath, David Keating has been reduced in rank to Lieutenant for his negligence and poor choices. Wraith is confined to the Brig for one month, but the Doctor informs me, is steadily returning to normal. Lehla ErhAb is still in sickbay however. Had it not been for what E'Saul referred to as a "limited exoskeleton", she would have been killed. Instead, she's suffering from severe nerve damage as well as several fractured vertebrae and ribs. From all reports of the incident, witnesses say the Klingons provoked and escalated the attack, and my crew was just acting in self defense. Wraith to everyone's amazement received special accommodation for his defense of the wounded Keating, who could only joke "what would his (Wraith) wife think?"

During his confinement though, I've given him special privilege to leave for no more than fifteen minutes a day, of which he spends in the Medical offices, holding Lehla's hand and keeping her company when her friends are all on duty. We're all pulling for her to make a full recovery but it sounds like only time will tell. E'Saul however believes that the zhen is way too stubborn to let a little nerve damage keep her from raising her boot to another ass ever again. We all remain hopeful that's true.

Lt. jg. LaRoca Rusty paced back and forth in his brig cell. "What the **** just HAPPENED?" he yelled out. His guards jumped at that - Petty Oficer Shatalya actually drew her sidearm. Rusty stared at them through the force field. "Guys, what is going on?" he asked them as calmly as he could. "Nati, Pat, talk to me!"

The two security officers looked down at their feet. "Cap'n'll be down soon," Sherman muttered.

Rusty turned away and resumed pacing, letting his toe-claws click on the cold tile, showing his agitation. He couldn't remember how he got here. The last thing he remembered, he had just finished escorting the Acamarian delegation on their tour of the ship. He had stopped of for a drink in the crew lounge, when Ensign Rem started fighting- "Guys, where's Remmy?" he asked.

A look of fear flashed between the guards' eyes, and they remained silent.

What did I do? Rusty checked himself for clues. His uniform was in disarray, spattered with blood... not his. Oh, ****...

Captain Doyle entered, along with Cmdr. Burroughs and LCdr. Obruchev. "Take a walk, you two," the first officer ordered gruffly.

Rusty stopped pacing and stared at the ship's three most-senior officers. They stared back at him.

"Okay, LaRoca, let's take it from the top," Captain Doyle said once the guards had left. "What happened up in Two Aft?"

Rusty spoke slowly, and evenly. "I walked in, sat down at the bar, and ordered a Cuba Libre. I thought about asking Jepp to make it with real alcohol, since I was late getting off-duty and the Acamarians were... irritating. I decided against it though. Ensign Rem came in and started... he started talking about my brother."

Doyle waited for a moment, then commanded "Go on. What did Ensign Rem have to say about Ensign LaRoca?"

"Well, first he asked me if Jesu was still in Starfleet. I told him yes. Then he asked me why. Then he turned around and told the room that if he'd killed two dozen Starfleet officers and crew, he'd have resigned, if not terminated himself."

Doyle winced and looked at Obruchev.

"The laguage that Rem actually used was much more colorful, sir," the chief security officer said by way of conformation.

"And what did you say to Rem?" Doyle asked, turning back to Rusty.

"I reminded him firstly that the case had been ordered sealed, and then I told him that the topic was not open for discussion."

"If the records were sealed, how did Rem know about it?"

"You'd have to ask him, sir," Rusty replied.

"The friendly-fire incident involving the Lieutenant's brother is fairly common knowledge among the veterans of the Battle of Sherman's Planet," Cmdr. Burroughs spoke up. The first officer had served with Rem aboard the Bismark, and their shipmates had been killed by Jesu LaRoca's fighter division in the battle two years before.

Doyle nodded slowly, keeping eye contact with Rusty. "I take it Ensign Rem did not drop the matter."

"Nossir. He asked me if I would have done what my brother had done, and traded Human, Vulcan and Andorian lives for Klingons and Gorn."

"Again, more colorfully," Valerie Obruchev remarked.

"How did you respond?" Doyle asked Rusty.

"I told him again that I wasn't going to talk about it, but he kept pressing the issue, and he kept moving closer to me. Eventually he was about this far away from me." Rusty held his fingers a few centimeters apart in front of his face. "And that's when I pushed him away."

"With your hands or your feet?"

"With my hand. Just applying a steady pressure." He placed his hand against the force field for a moment, making Doyle and Burroughs jump. "That's about how hard I pushed him." He glanced at his hand and flexed it.

Obruchev checked the security monitor. "About eighty Newtons. Not a very big push."

"And that's when he pulled me off my stool and we began to fight." Rusty shrugged. "Next thing I remember, I was in here."

"You don't remember the fight itself?" Doyle asked.

"Nossir. He must've tried to nerve-pinch me or he could have gone for my eyes or ears. That sort of thing would've triggered my blind-fight response. A survival instinct. I... never remember much when I'm in that mode." He looked down at the green bloodstains on his uniform. "I must have hurt Rem a lot more than he hurt me."

She complied, tapping the security panel. Rusty could still hear them though. It sounded like they were underwater. And he could read their lips.

"What the hell were you thinking, Reece?" the Captain demanded.

"I wanted to see if that would rattle him," Cmdr. Burroughs answered. "And it did. Look at him."

Rusty circled the cell for a moment before sitting down on the floor, and hugging his knees to his chest. I killed Remmy?

"He doesn't remember," Obruchev told the others. "He is shaken up, and scared, but he does not remember killing Rem."

"How can you be sure?" Burroughs asked her.

She shrugged. "I have worked with him for years, and I was one of his ATT instructors. I can gauge his reactions."

"What are your thoughts, Valerie?" Doyle wanted to know.

"Clearly, Ensign Rem instigated the incident and forced it to get out of hand. He was the agressor. The holovid from Two Aft clearly shows LaRoca only attempted to defend himself. Even the killing blow was defensive in nature. He was not trying to kill Rem."

"Do you take me for a fool!?" Reece Burroughs' shout was muffled by the dampeners, but Rusty could tell he was incredulous. "There were ****ing claw marks all over him!"

"When Rusty is on the attack, he leads with his feet," Obruchev replied calmly. "Fighting Rem, he used only his hands. Believe me, if LaRoca had intended to kill Rem, he would eviscerated him with one stroke of his toe-claw."

"Why would Rem have picked a fight with LaRoca?" Doyle wondered.

"Most likely explanation, dominance display for mating purposes, combined with impairment reduced by intoxication. Forty hours ago, Rem had reported experiencing early symptoms of the Pon farr to Dr. Roxton. He was relieved of duty until he was satiated. Holodeck records indicate that Rem did not attempt to initiate the Pon Farr Therapy Program, so it is assumed he was attempting to aleviate the issue by other means."

"And the intoxication?"

"Rem's replicator logs indicated that he ingested large amounts of sugary foods and beverages over the last thirty-six hours. We are still waiting for Dr. Roxton's pathology report." Obruchev crossed her arms. "In short, my take on this is is that Rusty was attacked by a Vulcan who was apparently inctoxicated and had begun to experience plak tow. Rusty was simply defending himself, with unfortunately fatal consequences for Mr. Rem."

"Thank you, Valerie," Captain Doyle said softly. "Reece, can I get an honest evaluation out of you?"

Burroughs visibly struggled to bring himself under control. "Honestly, sir, we've been here before with LaRoca. Since I came aboard with Bismark survivors sixteen months ago, I've seen LaRoca be involved in twenty-three breeches of conduct that ended in bodily harm. This is the first time he's killed anyone, but the pattern is clear. LaRoca is an obvious danger to his shipmates."

"And in how many of those incidents was LaRoca the instigator?" Doyle wondered.

"I don't remember."

"None," Obruchev declared. "Every altercation LaRoca has been involved in has been either breaking up a fight in progress, or else he was assaulted as in the case with Rem."

"It doesn't matter," Burroughs insisted. "The point is that LaRoca is a living weapon with no stun setting."

"He's a soldier on an assault ship full of MACOs," Obrachev argued. "MACOs are all trained to be living weapons, and they're all wound up pretty tight. Soldiers get in fights between missions. There is really no way of avoiding that. LaRoca has actually shown remarkeable restraint to this point, given his psychological makeup. And besides, his unique combat abilities have saved the lives of at least twenty times as many men as he's injured."

"I'm inclined to agree with Valerie," Doyle stated. "On any other ship in Starfleet, LaRoca's combination of temperment and combat prowess could be a liability. But he's too valuable to the job we do to let him go to waste."

"What about Rem?" Burroughs demanded.

"For now, we'll treat it as an isolated incident. There will be an inquest, of course, but LaRoca was clearly acting in self-defense. I don't think we'll have to worry about this situation repeating itself."

Obrachev grunted. "I think the whole crew has received the message now - you do not mess around with LaRoca."

Doyle nodded assent. "Disengage the dampener."

Rusty heard the ambient pitch change and looked up at the Captain. "I killed Remmy."

"It wasn't your fault, Lieutenant," Doyle told him. "Ensign Rem was way out of control and way over the line."

"But I didn't have to kill him."

"There will be an inquiry to determine what anyone could have done differently, but nobody's going to blame this on you."

Rusty glanced at Burroughs for a moment. "I want to request a transfer."

"Where would you want to go?" Doyle asked.

"To the Moray."

"Your brother's ship," Obrachev clarified.

Doyle pulled out his PADD and checked assignment orders. "That won't be possible... not for a few months, at least. The Moray's currently assigned to recolonization support in the Delta Volanis cluster - about as far from the front lines as possible. And we're not due to return to Kilo-Seven for rotation for another six weeks... let's see where we are at that point, shall we? You're a good officer and I'd hate to lose you. Just... wait here until the inquiry clears you." The Capatain tapped Burrough's shoulder and they both left.

The first officer fixed LaRoca with a hard glare on his way out of the brig.

"I'll be right back," Obrachev announced before following the two men out.

Rusty got up from the floor and went to the replicator unit. "Water." He lapped the plastic cup dry and returned it. "More." Dammit, Remmy. Rusty had never liked Remmy. The young Vulcan had always been so smugly, and naievely self-confident in his training and abilities... and the things he was always saying about Jesu, so cold and logical and self-righteous... You deserved this.

He looked down at the hand holding his cup. The six-cm claws on his two superior metacarpals were stained dark green. He put the cup down and washed his hands.

"Hang on." She tapped at the security console for a moment. The forcefield dropped. "Okay. It's safe to talk now."

"It's getting worse," he told her. "It's gonna happen again. And next time, I won't have un culero like Rem to give me an excuse."

She entered the cell. "I brought you a fresh uniform, and a full hypo," she said. "With the new dose from your doctor."

"Did you hear what I said? It's not helping anymore. It gets me to stay asleep, but when I'm awake..." Rusty sucked air through his teeth. "I know it's wrong. I know its irrational. But I still look at every man they pulled off the Bismark as someone who hurt Jesu. And I don't know how much longer I can last before I..." He started to cry. "I can't fake it anymore. Burroughs knows. And I... I'm really scared he's gonna be next."

"I can keep you away from Burroughs," Valerie told him. "Everything will be alright. I'll put you on a few shuttle assignments, and we'll get you off the ship at Kilo-Seven."

"I need my brother," Rusty muttered. "I just can't get by without him any longer. Whenever I'm not with him, I feel like I'm dying in slow motion."

"It's been what, three months now?"

"Four months, five days."

"I'm sorry, Rusty. I can't imagine what you're going through."

"Imagine the closest relationship you've ever had," Rusty told her. "Mother, sister, husband, best friend, someone you owe your life to a thousand times over. Now imagine an insatiable, gnawing hunger, a feeling of starvation, that eats your heart away when that person's not around. That's how I feel without Jesu."

"Holodeck doesn't help?"

"It's a holographic sandwich. Just the barest hint of a taste that leaves you wanting the real thing all the more."

"I understand." Obruchev stood next to him. "Take the hypo. Forget about Rem and Burroughs. I'll talk to Captain Doyle again, and MACO HQ, CSS... I'll find some way to get you back to your brother."

"Thanks."

She placed her hand on his chest. "I wish there was something more I could do for you."

"I know."

She stepped out of the cell, reset the security net, and left the brig.

Rusty took a dose off the hypo, stared at himself in the mirror, and watched himself die.